The Unexpected Son (9 page)

“Stop it, Vini!” Vishal threw her a scorching glare. “Don't you see we're trying to protect you from complete disaster?”

“Protect me or your precious
aabroo?
”

“Same thing!” he snapped. “A Hindu girl and her family's reputation are inseparable. We're a respectable family and we have to do everything in our power to protect ourselves.”

“Damn right!” agreed her father, giving his son an approving nod.

Vinita's clasped hands tightened in her lap.
Take a calming breath,
she told herself.
Temper and nerves are not good for the baby.
“I care, too.”

“And this is how you show it?” sniffed her mother.

Vinita flinched at the hurtful remark. “I've never given you any trouble before. My one and only mistake was falling in love with the wrong man.”

“Yeah,” chimed in Vishal. “You had an affair with a notorious
mowali,
and now you're…” He let the sentence trail off.

“I didn't exactly seek him out, Vishal, if that's what you're insinuating,” she protested. “It just…happened.”

“On top of everything, you're telling us it's too late to abort it.”

“I was afraid to tell you earlier.” She bit hard on her lip. “I knew you'd react…just like you're doing now.”

“How else do you expect decent folks to react?” demanded Vishal, pounding a fist on the chair's arm. “At this late stage, when an abortion is impossible, we have only one option—to get rid of it in the most humane fashion.”

Her hands shook. How could Vishal use the word
abortion
so casually? He was being deliberately cruel. “The three of you have no right to get rid of anything, least of all a baby.” She put an instinctive hand to her belly.

Her father's brows descended in a tight knot. “You call that rascal's seed a baby?” he asked. “Now look here, Vini, I refuse to tolerate any more nonsense from you. Just listen to me and Vishal and go pack your suitcase. You're leaving for Bombay tomorrow morning.”

She stood her ground. “I'll leave for Bombay if that's what you think is best. But I plan to keep my baby. I intend to raise it myself.”

“You think this is some kind of Hindi movie type of situation?” Vishal pointed a condescending finger at her. “Let me tell you, unlike the movies, Kori is not going to come riding in on a white horse and make you his bride. He's not going to wear some silly costume and dance because he's going to be a father. There is no happily ever after.”

“I know that,” Vinita ground out. She knew that fact better than anyone else. She knew exactly what kind of a cockroach Som Kori was.

But her mother reminded her anyway. “You know all this and still you want to hang on to his child?”

“Because I love the child, that's why. It's not the baby's fault that I made a mistake. An innocent baby can't just be given away like secondhand clothing because of its parents' foolishness. And no matter how rotten his or her father is, I care about him, too.” Her voice was cracking. There was a lump the size of a tennis ball lodged in her throat.

Before she could say any more, the tears she'd been holding in began to leak out. “I can't give up the baby,” she whispered. It was a product of love. At least on her part it was love.

Her attempts to explain only served to fuel her father's fury. “What kind of insane love is that? Love happens when you marry a decent young man picked by us. Until then there is no love.”

Drying her eyes with the edge of her
chunni,
Vinita shook her head. “Maybe not, but I've made a mistake; I have to pay for it.” If she had to raise her child alone, she'd do it. “Maybe I'll go to some women's shelter,” she said, raising her chin. “That way neither you nor any of Palgaum's people have to see me or my child.”

She gave them a moment to digest what she'd hurled at them and watched the incredulous looks replace the frustration and fury.

“And how do you propose to raise this illegitimate child?” her father growled.

“I have a brain, Papa. I'm capable of working—”

“With no college degree?”

She took another shaky breath. “Well…I'll do whatever it takes to support your grandchild.”

Her mother winced. Clearly she had difficulty viewing it as her grandchild. “But you're a child yourself,” she said, her voice turning hoarse. “You can't be a mother yet.” She was taking this worse than the two men.

“I realize that.” Vinita didn't need to be reminded of the fact. “Besides, weren't you married at eighteen and had Vishal at twenty?”

A defensive gleam flashed in her mother's eyes. “I was
married
to your father,” she reminded Vinita. “Your Papa was a respectable man, chosen by my parents. He had a good job and was fully capable of supporting a wife and children.”

“Damn right!” her father repeated, straightening his shoulders. Men of the Maratha caste were known for their manliness. They came from a proud race of warriors. The famous emperor-conqueror Shivaji was the Marathas' ultimate symbol of greatness.

“I know that,” Vinita said to her mother.

“Then why—”

“I also know,” Vinita interjected, regaining some of her composure, “it's going to be hard. But if uneducated widows and abandoned women could manage it a hundred years ago, I can do it in the twentieth century.”

“That may be easier in Europe and America, where there is not much stigma attached to illegitimacy, but in our culture…unthinkable.” Her father shook his head at her. “People do not accept such disrespectable things here.”

Vinita bit back the retort that sprang to her throat.
Sex is not disrespectable—not when one's heart and soul are in it
. And wasn't it sex that had brought Vishal and her into this world? Why did Indian people behave like making love was some disease to be shunned? After all, India was probably the only country in the world that had an ancient and elaborate instruction manual on sex. And then there were those highly erotic sculptures that adorned prehistoric temples. And yet some individuals went about twisting love and sex into something grotesque and shameful.

“Why are you doing this? How do you expect us to show our faces in this town?” cried her mother. Then she buried her face in her
pallu
and started to sniffle.

“I'm sorry, Mummy,” murmured Vinita. She hated seeing her mother cry. She hated the fact that her parents would become objects of ridicule in their cozy social circle.

“Vini, you're not thinking rationally,” said Vishal, watching with concern as his mother shed tears of anguish. “I've known that Kori chap since I was in college. He's totally lacking in brains and morals. All he knows is how to play cricket. Even that is for a small-town college. He'll never be a professional cricketer.” He wrinkled his long nose. “He has affairs with every willing girl in town, and his father has a long line of mistresses. That entire family is rotten. I'm sure you knew all this?”

“I did.” She wasn't proud that she'd fallen for the devil despite knowing what he was. “But I was too weak to resist,” she grudgingly admitted for the second time. What did she have to lose at this point? Every humiliating and ugly detail about her affair with Som was out in the open now.

Meanwhile her mother's sniffling continued. Her father patted her hand in his usual awkward fashion. “Shh, Sarla, why are you getting so upset? Vishal and I will deal with this.”

Vishal rooted his gaze on Vinita. “It's too late to do anything about it now. We just have to look at the future.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “You had better eat something and get some rest. Mummy will help you pack your things later. We have an early-morning flight tomorrow.”

“Where will I be staying in Bombay?” she asked, after her mother's tears subsided.

“With me.” Vishal sounded unhappy about the prospect. He obviously liked his bachelor life in his small flat. Having a sister around would be a nuisance. “After the baby comes, we'll have to decide how to proceed,” he added.

“There's not much to decide.” She tossed him a defiant look before rising from the chair. “I want you to know right now that I will not put my child up for adoption. I appreciate everything you're doing for me, but I promise I'll get out of your way soon after the baby is born.”

“I said we'll discuss it later,” repeated Vishal, holding up an index finger, making it clear the discussion was over. Then he put a hand over his mouth and stifled a yawn. “We all need to get a nap first. No one got any sleep last night.”

Rising to her feet to return to her bedroom, she noticed the odd looks that passed between her parents and Vishal. They were clearly disturbed by her decision.

Nonetheless, she needed to be brave. She had to follow her conscience.

V
ishal, clad in white pajamas, tiptoed down the stairs and through the drawing room into the kitchen. His stomach was growling. Turning on the light, he looked around, then picked up a banana from the bunch on the table. He finished it in a minute. Discarding the peel in the wastebasket, he quietly slipped out the back door of his parents' house to catch some fresh air.

Standing on the covered veranda outside the kitchen, he gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark. Then he settled himself on the rectangular swing that occupied nearly a third of the veranda. The thick slab of teakwood, suspended from the ceiling by four massive iron chains, was easily large enough to seat six.

It was well past midnight, but he couldn't sleep. After tossing for a while, he'd given up and come out here to find some food and to contemplate.

Gently setting the swing in motion, he stared into the gloomy blackness. The chains were rusty and creaked a little. But its gentle, rhythmic motion was soothing, reminiscent of his growing years. The swing had been in that spot as far back as he could remember.

It was a little over a year since he'd left this house to make a living for himself in Bombay, but this was his home. It was a comfort to sleep in his old bed, in his own room.

His parents had preserved his bedroom and everything in it intact, including some of his favorite boyhood toys, and his medals and certificates won in school and college. There was almost an air of anticipation about the room—it was waiting to be occupied once again. He knew they expected him to come back to live with them, take over his father's business, get married, have a family. It was the old-fashioned way. Being an only son came with certain obligations.

Street sounds were almost nonexistent at this late hour. An occasional car passed by, but mostly it was the muffled rumble of traffic on the highway about half a mile away that he could hear. Palgaum's ubiquitous fog was out there, too—gray, stealthy, damply encircling the house like a serpent.

This was blissfully peaceful when compared with his urban flat, where the streetlights and neon store signs encroached on his nights. And the never-ending traffic outside his window, twenty-four hours a day, assailed his ears. The smell of vehicle exhaust had embedded itself in his nose and lungs.

He closed his eyes and absorbed the stillness, savored the cool air settling over his skin. The temperature was almost chilly compared with the sticky heat of Bombay.

Something stirred in the shrubbery beyond the concrete steps—probably one of the neighbors' cats. Then everything went quiet again.

The distant but shrill whistle of a train pierced the night and his moment of peace. He opened his eyes. It was the overnight express that ran the Bombay–Bangalore route. For years the whistle and the chugging of the train had been a part of their lives. Palgaum Station was just a five-minute stop for the train—a tiny dot on the map.

After his long afternoon nap following that emotional family conference, he wasn't surprised that he was up in the middle of the night, wide awake and hungry, his conflicted mind trying to come to terms with what was happening to his family.

All these years, his had been a normal, stable life, with practical Hindu values so strongly entrenched, he'd hardly noticed it. Until now.

The fragile breeze brought with it the heady scent of
mogra,
the jasmine that grew in abundance in the garden leading off the veranda.

An image of Vini as a little girl, aged eight or nine, came to mind. She used to enjoy plucking the
mogra
in the evenings, when the plump buds blossomed into waxy white flowers at dusk. She'd sit cross-legged on the veranda floor, dressed in a colorful
parkar
and
polka
—ankle-length skirt and matching blouse—with her basket of flowers and a needle and thread. She'd patiently string the flowers into two garlands—one for their mother's hair, and the other to adorn her own tightly woven plaits, infused with coconut oil and secured with ribbons.

But she was no longer an innocent little girl with oil-glossed plaits. She was a woman now. A woman in trouble. What on earth had she been thinking when she'd started an affair with that snake Kori? An intelligent, pleasant girl with her entire life ahead of her should have been wiser than that. Instead she'd been foolish and careless. Undeniably stupid.

The suppressed anger started to simmer and bubble once again. The urge to drag his sister out of bed and give her a thorough scolding was creeping up on him. In fact, that irresponsible little brat deserved a flogging. And yet, the desire to protect her was equally fervent. He had always looked out for her safety. He wasn't about to give up that role now.

Every year, his family observed the Hindu ritual of
bhau beej,
when his sister reverently waved an oil lamp before him, applied a red dot on his forehead, and wished him a long and happy life. In return he gave her a small gift, promised to protect her from evil and hardship. It was time for him to fulfill that sacred oath he'd taken so many times over the years. Vini needed him now more than ever.

Could some of this be his own fault? Had it been a mistake for him to leave his family and go to Bombay to pursue a career? But he couldn't refuse that impossible-to-turn-down job offer from a major corporation. His father had encouraged him to take it, too. Working for one of India's most reputable financial-services giants as a chartered accountant for a year or two would make him more attractive to Palgaum's elite clientele. His dream of turning his father's modest business into a major financial planning company would be more reachable if he learned everything he could from his present employer.

On the other hand, his absence had allowed his sister to go astray, directly into the path of destruction. If he'd been here, he would have discovered Vini's love affair before it could go too far. He would've strangled that worthless bastard Kori, and sent him straight to the sewer, where he belonged. Vishal would have talked some sense into Vini before she could ruin herself. If that hadn't worked, he'd have talked his parents into enrolling her in an out-of-town college, somewhere far from Palgaum.

But it was too late for any of that. Even now his fingers itched to encircle that egomaniac's neck and squeeze until the man's funny golden eyes popped out. Nonetheless, it was wishful thinking. What good would it do, anyway? Any confrontation between himself and the powerful Kori family, which had every government official and politician in their deep pockets, would end up only one way.

Besides, the Kannada-Marathi tensions were already high in this town, and any clash of that sort, however minor, could blow up into a major episode. His father could lose his loyal Kannada clients. His family could even get hurt or killed. He couldn't risk that.

At the moment, he needed to smuggle his sister out of town and keep her out of the public eye for the next few months. His parents were counting on him to accomplish that. It was going to be hard, but in that respect his being in Bombay was a blessing. He didn't know too many people there, not even his neighbors. Big-city life rarely involved friendly relationships with one's neighbors. Nobody would know Vini there.

His nice, comfortable bachelor life would be disrupted. But he'd manage somehow. It was only for a few months.

What really scared him was Vini's health. He knew nothing about caring for an expectant woman. He'd have to ask his mother about that.

As if in response to his silent reflection, the back door opened. His mother's silhouette appeared against the backdrop of the kitchen light. Her hair was an untidy halo around her head.

“Vishal?” she called softly.

“Yes.”

“I heard the swing…guessed it was you.” She spoke in whispers.

“I couldn't sleep,” he said, putting both feet firmly on the floor to bring the swing to a stop.

“Me too.” She sat down beside him and sniffed. “You ate a banana?”

He smiled. His mother could smell something a mile away. “Hmm.”

“If you're hungry, I'll make something for you.” She started to stand.

He caught her wrist and forced her to sit back down. “You don't have to feed me constantly.”

She reluctantly settled back on the swing. They sat in uneasy silence for several minutes.

He inhaled deeply the humid,
mogra
-scented air. “Our Vini is going from teenager to mother,” he said, gingerly introducing the subject that was uppermost in both their minds.
Unwed
mother, he corrected himself.

His mother sighed. “I haven't slept since Vini dropped the bomb on us.”

“I know.” Vini's crisis certainly qualified as a bomb. He was still reeling from the explosion.

“What are we going to do, Vishal?” His mother's face was turned toward him. With only a faint glimmer of light coming through the partly open kitchen door, he couldn't see much of her face, but the concern in her voice was as clear as daylight. “How can something so horrible happen to us?”

“Papa and I will take care of it,” he replied, with more certainty than he felt.

“I am so relieved you are here. Your father seems more like his normal self now.”

“This is very upsetting for him.”

“I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Never seen him like that. I expected him to get angry, but he became very quiet after he heard the news.”

“It had to be the shock,” Vishal offered.

“And when he remained like that all night, I was so scared.”

“I know,” he repeated. He angled one foot on the cold slate floor and propelled the swing into gentle motion again. “I'll take her to Bombay…make sure she stays out of trouble.”

“How?”

“I'll keep Kori away from her.”

“That's not what I'm worried about. Kori wants nothing to do with her or the child.” She touched his arm. “This doctor friend of yours. Is he reliable?”

“Very,” he assured her. “His name is Ram Gupte. He and I used to be classmates in the first two years of college, but we lost touch after he went off to medical college.”

“How come I never heard of him…or his family?”

“His father was in the army,” he explained. “So they were in Palgaum for only a short while.”

“So you don't know this chap all that well.” She sounded dubious. “Will he keep a secret?”

“Oh yes. He's a reputable doctor affiliated with Bombay Hospital. When I explained everything to him earlier, he understood.”

“But still…”

“He assured me he handles other cases like this—girls from respectable families getting into trouble.”

She paused for a minute. “But Bombay Hospital is such a big, public hospital. Someone we know could easily see Vini there—”

“They won't,” he interrupted. “Ram has his own office. He apparently treats all such…unusual cases there. He says his staff is very discreet.”

“But I still worry about her future. If she insists on keeping the child, it will ruin her.” She paused. “And us.”

“I'll talk to her. She'll be staying with me for the next few months, so we'll have a chance to discuss it.”

“She will not listen to you.”

“She will,” he said with all the conviction he could muster. “I'll convince her.”

“I don't think so, Vishal.”

He gave himself a second to respond. “Don't you trust me, Mummy?”

“Of course I trust you,” she snapped. “But this is different. She's not herself.” His mother sighed long and loud once again. “I don't know what is wrong with her. Why is she being so obstinate?”

“I don't know,” he said in frustration. “Maybe it's her condition. What do I know about pregnant women?”

“Well,
I
do!” Sarla stopped the swing and rose to her feet. “It is probably best if I come to Bombay during the delivery, don't you think?”

“Absolutely! I know nothing about childbirth. She's going to need you there.”
I'm going to need you
. The idea of having to see his sister through childbirth made him shudder.

“I will fly out there for a few weeks when her time comes,” she said in a flat, resigned tone. “Go to bed, Vishal.”

“I will, in a few minutes. You go ahead.” He watched her open the door and step inside. She looked like she'd aged by a decade within the last few hours. Her petite body looked almost frail. And yet she was quite young, only in her forties. He called out to her. “Mummy.”

“Hmm?” She turned around to face him.

“How are you and Papa going to explain Vini's sudden disappearance?”

“Papa thinks we should say she got a special scholarship to study at some college in Bombay.”

He rolled his eyes. “Nobody is going to believe it.”

She nodded. “I told him that. They'll wonder why we didn't brag about it before.”

“I agree.”

“I think we should say she was recently diagnosed with some kind of tumor or something and is receiving treatment in Mumbai.” She paused for a beat. “At least people will understand why we kept it a secret.”

Vishal stroked his mustache, considering her viewpoint. “I don't know about that, either.”

“No?”

“But it sounds more believable than a scholarship, I suppose.” Palgaum didn't offer many medical options, and lots of people who could afford better health care went either north to Bombay or south to Bangalore for specialized treatment. It wasn't unheard of.

“We'll have to think of something soon.” She sounded exhausted, dejected.

“And we will,” he said. “We will, Mummy.”

She closed the door and disappeared inside the house.

Vishal sat in the stillness of the night for a long time. He wasn't sure if his mother believed him. Heck, he wasn't sure if
he
believed himself. But he'd made a promise to his parents. He'd have to find a way to keep it. It was going to be a difficult road to negotiate.